


Dragon Age Prompts

by NixieThePixie



Series: Prompts & Challenges [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, But we still love him!, Challenges, Fenris Has Issues, Multi, So many ships, but not too much?, fluff too, like oh my god, like so many issues, oh god the angst, or maybe?, prompts, shipping-galore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 23:51:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10729887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixieThePixie/pseuds/NixieThePixie
Summary: Prompts and challenges within the Dragon Age-universe. Feel free to suggest more!





	Dragon Age Prompts

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Fenris/fem!Inquisitor

Arriving at Skyhold somehow solidifies it all for him—makes it that much harder to believe that Varric has simply made a mistake and that the daft woman is still alive.

But no, Hawke is gone.

People _know_ who he is the instant he sets foot inside the gates, parts as he makes his way up the many stairs and stage-whispers when he inters the Grand Hall.

For a moment he stands still, tries to take in the vision before him.

It hurts— _Maker’s fucking breath it hurts!_ —to see the same eyes, the same hair on the almighty Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste and Chosen by the Maker to end the evil Corypheus.

 _Hawke_ killed Corypheus—Fenris ought to know since he was with her when they ended the bastard—but _no_ , he survived Hawke. He survived that foolish woman against all odds.

“Fuck,” he hears Varric mutter before the dwarf steers him out of the Grand Hall and instead hauls him to the thankfully empty barracks.

“You knew,” Fenris spits out, clutching his wrist with the red cloth Hawke gave him so long ago, “You knew what—!”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Broody,” Varric sighs and buries his face in his hands—a position not many have ever seen Varric adopt.

* * *

In the end he stays after the disaster that is seeing the Inquisitor for the first time, but for Fenris it is a perpetual Hell on earth. The Lady Trevelyan looks like Hawke with her dark hair—kept in a tight braid where Hawke’s would be free to bask in the wind. Her eyes are blue as well—but wide and naïve in comparison to the steel and no-nonsense look that had dominated Hawke’s eyes ever since the Qunari stormed Kirkwall.

But apart from the physical traits they share, the two women are as different as night and day.

Hawke’s voice was loud and boisterous; the Inquisitor’s voice is quiet and curious.

The Inquisitor adores sour confections above all else; Hawke could barely be kept away from the sweet Orlesian cakes that the Hightown Bakery had imported.

Hawke was a Warrior of legend in the Free Marches; the Inquisitor is a blasted Mage.

The woman continues to try and befriend him, tries to corner him in darkened corridors or when he has finished the drills alongside the Inquisition foot soldiers, but he doesn’t let her. Breathing becomes painful when he spots her close by, memories of happier, easier times before Corypheus and insane Wardens and _fucking Anders_ flash by unwillingly.

It hurts too much.

So why does he stay? He has nothing to gain from this but heartache and pain, but Fenris stays all the same. Varric calls him masochistic and Fenris is partially inclined to agree with the dwarf. It all makes sense in the long run when he thinks about it late at night with only the lit candle at his bedside for company.

That is what it is.

Punishment for not being there when Hawke needed him. Punishment in form of Hawke’s apparent doppelgänger.

* * *

They go to the Arbor Wilds, finds Abelas and his ancient elves and learns of the mysterious Well of Sorrows in the Temple of Mythal.

Fenris finds it all ridiculously surreal.

He thinks of Merrill who would happily have cut off her own arm just to learn what he has learnt of the elves. She would probably give even more than that after the small team finds out just what the Well of Sorrows is and what it requires.

“Very well,” the Inquisitor says and leans against her staff, “I will partake of the Well’s knowle—!”

“Don’t.”

He speaks before he can stop himself and they all look at him, expressions varying between surprised and downright relieved if the Witch of the Wilds is anything to go by.

“Your reasoning for this being?”

The Inquisitor raises an eyebrow and _fuck_ , it’s like seeing Hawke for the first time all over again after he tore the heart out of Danarius’ henchman.

“You are too important to risk for… _that_ ,” he answers surly and waves a hand at the Well, “Better to let the Witch take the chance, she is expendable.”

“The Hell she is if she drinks of the Well,” the Inquisitor mutters but she still steps aside and Fenris can’t help but scream— _HAWKE WOULD NEVER BACK AWAY SO EASILY_ —inside.

* * *

They escape Corypheus in the Temple and stumbles back to an empty Skyhold, but while they wait for the army and the Inquisitor’s advisors to return she once more tries to approach Fenris and this time there are no one to hide him from her searching gaze.

It takes longer than he things but in the end she pins him down in one of the corridors between the kitchens and the lower courtyard.

“Do you hate me?”

He is not prepared for her question—is nowhere near prepared for her ( _HAWKE’S!_ ) eyes to look at him in such confusion.

“Have I done something to upset you, Fenris?”

Fenris swallows and ducks backwards, his back hitting the cool stone, and the Inquisitor steps forward.

“Fenris?”

Her voice is pleading now, too sweet and controlled to ever have belonged to Hawke. Once, and only once, has Fenris heard Hawke use a similar tone of voice—after the death of Leandra Hawke, something that _broke_ his Champion’s heart to pieces.

It’s too much, all of it is, and Fenris barely knows what he is doing before the Inquisitor and he has switched places, his hands curled around her shoulders and his eyes boring into hers.

“You are her, but _not_.”

The Inquisitor stares back at him in wonder, fright and a myriad of other emotions before her features soften even more than they already are and she curls her arms around his neck as gently as she can without startling the poor elf.

“I am so sorry,” she rasps into his ear and his hands tighten enough to create bruises (he is sure as shit going to hate himself for causing them later on), “I am so, so sorry, Fenris.”

So they stand there, covered by shadows in the hallway, and just hold each other.

And for one glorious, _glorious_ moment Fenris can almost hear her, almost see her, and he chooses to leave her be.


End file.
